A Dream on Elm Street: Elizabeth Carter's Story
by x-Oscena-x
Summary: A broken story over the life of an abused psychic girl named Elizabeth Carter who, due to her extreme physical abuse, lost her brain's ability to feel pain at a very young age and her encounter with the murderous, evil spirit, Freddy Krueger.


Author's Note: I had a dream and it went something like this. elaborated a bit, and I hope I dream some more on it. It's sort of a broken story over the life of an abused psychic girl named Elizabeth Carter who, due to her extreme physical abuse, lost her brain's ability to feel pain at a very young age.

A Dream on Elm Street - Lizzie Carter's Story  
Part 1

Elizabeth was seven years old when her family moved in to house 1428 on Elm Street. It was her, her mother, and her mother's abusive boyfriend, Roger, and his pit bull, Benji, then.

From the moment she set foot in that house, she had felt something there- something heavy. She had had feelings like it before, feelings that she was being watched, that there was some kind of invisible spectre, whether malevolent or benevolent, hanging over a person or a place. Never before, though, had her feelings ever been so strong as when her mother had her take her few things down to the basement where she would be making her home.

The place was covered in dust and cobwebs, and cluttered with long-forgotten furniture. As she set her things down on a crate, a feeling of intense heat washed over her. She turned slowly around to find an unlit, wrought-iron boiler. She could have sworn at that moment that someone, somewhere, was laughing.

That night, as she layed down on her small bed and closed her little blue eyes, a flame flickered to life in the boiler...

She opened her eyes to find that the basement was no longer dark- and that, in fact, she wasn't in the basement at all, but a huge, hot maze of metal. She stumbled off of her bed, and heard her feet sizzle on the metal mesh walk that held her suspended over a huge drop into a tangle of steel pipes and fire.

Clutching to the scalding hot hand rail, she made her way along in her little white nightgown.

"Where am I?" she asked nobody, peeking down through the holes in the walkway. She jumped as she heard a boy's voice say, "You're in Freddy's boiler room."

She looked up to find a little boy in a red and green-striped sweater. He looked her age.

"Who's Freddy?" she asked curiously.

The little boy laughed. "Come with me," he said. "I'll show you."

She followed him. "My name's Elizabeth. You can call me Lizzie, if you want to. It's what daddy used to call me before he went away. It's hot in here... What's your name?"

The boy stopped in front of a door with a big glass window. Elizabeth stopped, too. Peeking around the boy, she could see fire through the glass.

The boy turned around slowly, and as he did, he got bigger and bigger.

Elizabeth gasped. "You're not a little boy at all!" she said accusingly.

The man laughed in a strange voice, placing a brown hat on his head.

She noticed that his face looked strange, like all the skin was gone.

"Hello, Lizzie," the man said, smiling menacingly. "My name is Freddy."

He extended his right hand slowly, and instinctively, she reached out hers, too, and allowed him to take hold of it roughly and pull her closer with a laugh.

"That's a weird glove," she said, noticing that his hand, three times the size of her own, wore a rough yellow glove with knives sticking out of the fingers. She leaned in and studied it for a moment, deciding that she liked it. She could see her reflection in the shiny metal blades as he released her hand and stood upright.

Her big, blue eyes looked up at him. He seemed a little disoriented.

"What's wrong, Freddy?" she asked.

He kneeled down onto one knee, meeting her eyes. "Do you like magic tricks?" he asked, smiling again.

"Yes," she replied excitedly with a big smile.

"Close your eyes," he said, raising a bladed finger.

She did. She felt a few brushes against her forearms, then a tingle, then a hot, wet feeling.

She heard an angry, impatient yell: "Why won't you screeeeam!?!?"

She woke up to the sound of Benji's snarling and barking.

"What's going on down here?!" came Roger's agitated shout.

Her mother and Roger descended the stairs heavily, clicking on the light, and as soon as her mother saw her, she let out a scream.

"What's wrong, mommy?" Elizabeth asked, sitting up. She followed her mother's gaze to her own arms, and found that they bled profusely onto her bedsheets. On her right arm was a clearly carved word "FREDDY'S" and in her left was the word "BACK".

She didn't hear from Freddy for a long time... but her parents both had nightmares. She was eight when her mother was sliced to pieces in her sleep.

The night after her mother's death, she set off in search for Freddy in her dream.

She found him, of course, and asked him what happened to her mommy.

Freddy replied none too delicately that he had killed her, and that Lizzie was next.

Elizabeth, of course, had no clue what 'kill' meant until she was ten and her abusive stepfather and his dog were found murdered in the master bedroom upstairs.

She spent one last night in that house while they found her foster parents.

"Freddy??" she called out through the darkened house. Lightning flashed, and she saw the silhouette of his hat through a doorway. "Freddy, it's me. Lizzie."

"WHAT?!"

Elizabeth was bombarded with intense heat as a very agitated Freddy appeared inches from her face. She didn't blink. "They're taking me away since mommy and Roger are gone and there's nobody to take care of me. So I don't think I'll see you anymore. Won't you be lonely?"

He let out a roar of anger. They were going to take her away?! He needed a child's soul!! He lunged angrily with his glove- and it passed right through her.

She seemed unfazed. "Oh, by the way, Freddy," she held out her forearms wrists-up, exposing two shining words: "FREDDY'S BACK," and said "they didn't hurt, but the doctor said that they're going to be scarred forever. It's okay, though. It's something to remember you, by."

She visited her old house when the doctors decided that it would be good for her to get a break from the hospital where she lived. Since her foster parents had been murdered in their beds while she slept, she had been kept in a hospital for the emotionally scarred. She had been deemed completely safe, just emotionally cut off from others, so there was no problem getting her a cab to Elm Street on the other side of town.

Sprawled out on the old sofa, Elizabeth breathed in the scent of the house. It was a musky scent- one that reminded her of ancient books that you might find in a neglected attic. She slowly closed her eyes, and then, she felt him there. He stood over her, watching her. She tilted her head, exposing her slender, pale neck, and pretended she didn't feel his menacing presence.

_'Welcome back, Lizzie...'_ came the voice from her childhood.

He raised his hand and let the blades hover inches from her flesh- flesh that had forgotten pain so long ago. How easy it might have been to end her life right then and there, but knowing that she felt and feared no pain, he had no power over her.

She didn't so much as flinch as the cold metal came to rest on her skin... then, as quickly as he had appeared, he disappeared.

She knew that her received no satisfaction from her, and that he, in fact, wanted nothing more than to kill her as he had so many others. But no matter how he haunted her, he could never make her fear him or the death he promised, for feeling no pain, death was but an adventure for her- another state of being- or not being.

She laughed wistfully, opening her blue eyes.

Oh, how he must hate her! He could not control or kill her- could not fed off of the fear that she did not feel. She was untouchable.

She was only seventeen, then...

At the age of eighteen, she was released from the hospital. Some time later, she found herself under the care of a man named Ken Welsh.

She was nineteen when she returned to that house on Elm Street, and though still no physical pain had plagued her, Elizabeth had come to know the pain of the heart. Her husband, Ken, who had insisted that they move there after the house was deemed to legally belong to her, abused her. She had loved him- and though she never felt the bruises or the wounds, she could fel her heart break when he raised his hand to her. The man she saw when he struck her was not the man she had come to love.

Freddy saw her return, and his determination to kill her- to somehow make her feel pain- returned as well, stronger than ever. When he discovered her wounds and the cause of them, he grew furious. That guy had no right to _his_property! While Freddy wanted to inspire fear, to cause pain, Ken wanted only to satisfy his pathetic inadequacies by the control over his wife.

But, in Ken, Freddy saw an opportunity. Ken's inadequacies and fears provided energy, and, Freddy decided, rather than simply possess Ken and kill Elizabeth, he wanted to kill her with his own hands. To do that, he would need that energy.

So, he began to terrorize Ken in his dreams, and though Freddy didn't realize it, Elizabeth knew. And in her own way, she found that she was glad. She found that, more than anything she had ever experienced, she enjoyed watching her husband waste away and suffer... it made her so sadistically happy.

Freddy, unaware of her knowledge of his plan, grew more and more powerful each night- feeding on Ken's terror.

Meanwhile, Elizabeth believed that she was beginning to understand Freddy's addiction to causing others pain, and she came to appreciate his methods. When her husband would leave for work, and she was left alone in the house with Freddy's presence, she would act as though she had forgotten the ghost. But when the presence was gone, she would begin planning on her own, and after a time, she came to construct her own version of a very familiar bladed glove. It was beautiful in her own mind, and though once a weak and kind-hearted girl, by her twentieth birthday, she couldn't wait to... test it out.

She smiled, sliding the lovely little thing onto her slender hand. It was, of course, a perfect fit. She was the only one who would ever wear it. Raising her hand into the lamp-light, she caught a glimpse of her own reflection. She had become a woman, she noted, cocking her head to one side. She wondered if it was possible that she had ever been the helpless girl that she could hardly remember.

A sudden impulse ran through her arm, and in a flash of movement, fluff and dust exploded throughout the air as she sliced through one of the old couch cushions.

She let out a laugh that did not quite suit her beautiful face, then, white dress fluttering, ascended the creaking basement stairs.

"Ken...?" Elizabeth called out softly through the darkness.

The storm outside raged, and as she passed a window and lightning struck, she was slammed against the opposite wall in a wirlwind of shattered glass and an overwhelming smell of booze.

Smothered under Ken's bodyweight, she assumed vaguely that he had stayed late at the bar and gotten drunk.

"Damnit...! 'Lizabeaa....." he groaned, lifting himself off of her. "Whure'd'ego?!" he yelled wildly.

She recognized the mad look in his eyes- he was scared and drunk. A bad combination. She lifted herself and stood, forgetting for a moment her plan... until he looked at her and saw the glove.

"You!!" he fell back against the wall. "You'n 'im's-!!"

He broke off, and in panic, he grabbed hold of a table lamp and flung it at her.

She blocked it with her arms, and Ken fled stumblingly down the hall. For a moment, she stood frozen. Then, she noticed that she was covered in shards of glass and was bleeding. A warm, wet feeling called her attention to her left arm, and she found four deep, bloody gashes in her shoulder from where she had landed on her glove in the fall. For a few seconds, she just looked at it, noticing how the blood streamed from the wound evenly... then, she grinned and her eyes lit up. She lifted the bloody glove, letting the blood lust overtake her, then followed Ken's trail of blood into the parlor.

"Get'way frm me!!" he cried, picking up the letter-opener from the desk. "Yernot reeeel.... yer in my hed!!"

"I'm real, Kenny." she said with a sweet smile. She slowly moved forward, dragging the blades absently against the wall, scratching off the paper. The scars on her arms glittered in the light from outside the window. "The boogieman from your dream- Freddy- he's real too, you know. But you're mine. He's had his fun. It's my turn, now."

"No- NO!"


End file.
